Into the Valley of Sacrifice
by Void Character
Summary: A lonely young man travels back in time to rewrite history. All starting at Number Four Privet Drive, December 22, 1996. What happened that was so bad? And why does he keep staring at Harry? NO SLASH. Reviewers and flamers welcome! ONE-SHOT!


The trees of Privet Drive rustled gently with the wind as a cold night dawned on the street. A stray tabby wandered slowly across the paved road, stalking its unsuspecting pray with confident, silent steps and an unnoticeable grin edging his face. The rat in question stopped and turned nose-up to sniff the air suspiciously. He froze; heart convulsing in his small chest and whiskers on end as a scent that shouldn't have been present inflated his aging nostrils. The tabby made ready, bending his legs. The rat turned round stiffly, bravely, and confronted the cat. The air was an eerie silent as no crickets chirped and no birds hummed, the natural order of things soon to fulfill its hunger of the weak.

_BOOM! _

A thunderclap of noise electrified the air. A cloaked figure came crashing into view, and the cat and mouse could soon be seen sprinting full out in opposite directions.

The figure gasped, staggering on the ground. He shook his head back and forth to rid the migraine of a large journey.

"Sorry kitty." Said a young male voice. He stood up gradually and stretched his limbs. A flash went off in his head and, without hesitating, he took a watch looped from around his neck into his hand and threw it on the ground. The heel of his shoe gutted the tiny works of the watch across the pavement, and a hand dug into his pocket for a crumpled slip of paper.

As if it hadn't already been drilled into his memory, he straightened the piece and read it quietly,

"Number Four Privet Drive."

His eyes connected immediately to the house at his front. A shiny golden "4" reflected light through the dead of night. He began treading forward, an energy resurgence of excitement allowing him to continue each step.

As he came closer, through the driveway and into the deceitfully perfect yard, loud angry voices could be heard bellowing through the well kempt house. A flicker of fear passed through the young man's eyes at the prospect of being too late. He cleared the last twenty feet at a sprint and banged loudly to be heard over the shouts of a very angry man. He found himself jumping as a small child might to see the inner house through the door's window.**  
**

"Get the door!" The voice bellowed.

The door opened and a nervous 16-year-old boy took its place.

"Can I help you?" He exhaled calmly. The young man before him said nothing. He just looked, taking in every inch of the mid-teen before him with a glassy stare. The 16-year-old nervously switched his balance from foot to foot, waiting.

Finally, the young man snapped out of his catatonic gaze, shaking his head from side to side for a moment.

"Dumbledore sent me here." The young man rehearsed. Yet again, he found himself gawking at the younger boy, perhaps searching for something.

"Who is it!" A particularly fat man came up behind the teen. The boy jumped at the sudden appearance of his uncle.

"George Browerly, sir. I apologize for the late hour," '_In which you are currently waking up the entire universe with your blatant hatred of all things living,_' "But I must speak with Harry here."

"Take him!" The man grunted. "I don't want to see his filth!"

Harry quickly walked out into the cold moonlit night, contradicting everything Mad-Eye Moody had ever drilled into his brain. '_Chuck it. I'd rather be with a recruit of Voldemort than be with my uncle at the moment._'

Vernon Dursley slammed the door which was at risk of exploding off its hinges.

And Harry was alone. Alone on his winter break with no one but a random stranger claiming to have a word from Dumbledore. Harry's hand sank into his denim pocket and felt the wand within. Trust could come later.

"What does Dumbledore want?" Harry asked.

George took his eyes off Harry and beckoned towards the sidewalk.

"Maybe it's best to avoid prying ears." George suggested.

Harry hesitated; maybe it wasn't such a great idea...

"Where's my damn coke!" The house shook violently with the bombarding echoes of his uncle's voice.

"Alright." Harry said, nodding fervently.

And they both began the trip to nowhere.

"Dumbledore sent me to get you away from the Dursleys for a bit. He deemed your uncle currently unfit of your care." George told Harry.

Harry mentally snorted. '_Vernon isn't fit for the care of a pet ant_.'

George looked at Harry again. His eyes glued to the teen by his side. Harry noticed the gawking but didn't care much anymore. He was very used to it.**  
**

"Sorry about my uncle. He was just fired you see-"

George cleared his throat and looked off towards the sparkling moon and the clouds below.**  
**

"Don't worry none, I know what it's like. My father lived with his uncle too. The terrible man ruined my dad's life. That's why Dumbledore sent me in particular, as I have some experience in the field."

"How did your father turn out?" Harry asked curiously.

"Dead." George stated simply, looking ahead. "My uncle took a bat to his spine one night and paralyzed him from the waist down. He ended up dating an intern nurse, my mother." When Harry looked off towards a bush, George resumed his staring in awe. "She left him with me a year later and lived another five years."

"I'm sorry." Harry said. "But I know how it feels to loose someone." 'Cedric, my parents, Sirius.'

Harry began warming up to this George guy, although he didn't know why. Perhaps it was just the way he talked. A Death Eater would be vile and idiotic whereas this guy spoke with empathy and understanding. Harry's grip on his wand loosened.

"Of course you know loss Harry Potter, you suffer more pain than anyone else. I'm your distraction." George smirked and caught Harry's grin.

"Sounds good to me." Harry replied. He exhaled comfortably and caught his misty breath. He hadn't even noticed the icy air amongst George's company. There was a pause, and Harry sought to break the silence.

"What was your father like?" Harry asked.

"I remember he was a great guy." George trailed off into his memory. "When I was five he took me to the Quidditch World Cup. I don't remember the game much though. He took me to meet Victor Krum afterward, I was a big fan." George chuckled. "Victor lent his broom to my father after the game. My father, he couldn't walk you see, which just made his love of flying more intense. Just me and him, soaring through the air for what felt like hours."

"That sounds like a blast." Harry smiled. What Harry didn't realize was that fifteen years ago when George was five, Victor Krum could only have been three or four years old.

"Not until a few years after he died, when I was older, did I realize he had a drinking problem. To be honest I couldn't blame him. His life had so much potential, all lost the day his uncle came home angry."

"Not that I'm in a rush, but when are we going back?" Harry asked. George snapped out of his past and came back to the present.

"When I say to." George said sternly. "I've seen what men can do with their anger and I can't let you get hurt."

"But I don't even know you." Harry replied, confused.

George turned his head and looked back for a moment for potential pursuers. Harry could have sworn he saw moonlight reflect a tear on George's face, but when the young man turned back, there was nothing to see.

"Well I know you, and I also know you're too valuable to loose on some midnight excursion."

"I'm not a piece of gold. Did you know _that_?" Harry said angrily.

"We all are. You're just the shiniest." George said comically. "And a band of Neanderthal pirates are trying to get you."

Harry laughed.

"Neanderthal pirates?"

George wiped the smile off his face.

"I just thought you should know, I'm sorry you never got to know your father as I knew mine. He made my life as amazing as possible, despite his disabilities, and I wish that I had the chance to make his life as wonderful as he made mine."

A loud beeping sound came from George's cloak. It was like an alarm clock protruding into a wonderful dream, trying to drag you back to reality.

'_Not yet! I haven't even-_"

"What was that?" Harry asked.

George looked up at Harry calmly.

"It's safe to go back now." He said quietly. '_Vernon Dursley is asleep._' He finished in his head.

"And how does the beeper know?" Harry asked.

"It is wise beyond its years." George said, closing his eyes tightly and shaking his head.

"Before we start the long journey back may I hug the Boy-Who-Lived? I want to brag about it to my younger cousins. They'll be so jealous." George smiled, and he mentally frowned in anticipation.

Harry was a little surprised. Hugging a stranger was not on his to-do list, but this guy understood things about him that not even his closest friends knew. It would almost be like hugging a relative.

"Sure." Harry said, opening his arms.

The young man clung to him for a moment.

A few tears of nostalgia dripped down his face that Harry would never get the chance to see.

"Mind that you keep your health. And if Vernon Dursley ever, and I mean _ever_ lifts a hand against you, blast him into oblivion nice and good. Got it?" George's voice was extremely close to cracking. But it didn't.

"I will." Harry heeded the advice as if it came from a protective older brother. Like many things that happened that night, he didn't know why.

"Good." George smiled. He backed away some, just a little, and that's when Harry really thought he was imagining things.

Barely audible, George spoke out, "I love you dad."

George was gradually becoming transparent, as a ghost might. He picked up an arm and waved goodbye. Suddenly, he yearned for the good times that would now never occur. Harry James Potter would never get paralyzed on December 22, 1996. He would never go to the Montgomery hospital emergency room and get five staples in his back. He would never know the touch of a specific intern nurse. And he would most certainly never have a paraplegic life of alcoholism and death. Instead, he would lead his own destiny. He would kill Voldemort and become a savior, a saint. He would join the Chuddley Cannons and make the Quidditch Hall of Fame. He would marry the love of his life and live a long, healthy life with three children.

But he would never know George Brewerly.

A rain drop pelted Harry's head unnoticed. Dumbfounded, Harry's mind was in slow motion, working overtime to piece together the details of what exactly was happening.

And then, without a sound or signal in the world, George Brewerly vanished.

"What?" Harry said, reacting late. There was a twenty second pause as Harry's eyes glazed over.

"Where am I?" Harry wondered, glancing left and right. '_The last thing I remember was Vernon yelling about something. Oh yeah, he was fired! Bad news for me._' Harry thought.

He felt raindrops and couldn't help hoping for snow. Anything to ease his mind of his uncle's inevitable anger.

A tiny rat scurried under Harry's legs, seeking protection from the escalating downpour. Harry glanced down at the terrified rat and suddenly had a vague feeling of recognition.

"Are you going to follow me home?" Harry asked. He took a look around at the dripping moonlit darkness that surrounded him. Something was missing, but he just couldn't put his finger on what.

Harry shrugged it off. He began his journey back to Hell, but this time a friend followed in tow.

(A/N) So how did you like it? I would really love to hear what you thought. Flame all you want, just please give a poor guy some feedback. ;)


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